It was midwinter in the year of 2001, and I was in the middle of the third grade. I woke up, and went straight to my kitchen to listen to the radio. This was my regular morning ritual. I would wake up, and go listen about the day's forecast, and any other important news going on in the world.
So there I was, just sitting down and relaxing, when I hear the radio host announce that all schools were closed for the day due to snow. I was so happy!!! I immediately jumped off my chair, and ran into my room, where my brother was lying in bed, sleeping. He always woke up later than me, so you can only imagine his reaction when I jumped up and down on his bed yelling, and screaming.
" What are you doing!?!?!," he shouted.
" It's a snow day!! The snow is so deep that school's closed," I replied.
H e simply rolled over and stated, " Good for you, and now Im going back to bed".
I laughed and went back into the kitchen where my mom was preparing a heaping dish of French toast.
" Hey, want some French toast? If not there are pop-tarts and waffles on the counter."
" French toast sounds fine, thanks," I answered.
As I was eating my delicious breakfast, all I could think about was diving into the freshly fallen snow as if it were a sea of fluffy white pillows. I was especially excited because I had just finished recovering from a broken collarbone, and I was eager to go back outside and play, since I hadn't been outside in almost two months. Boy was I ever in for an ironic surprise.
So after I finished breakfast I wrapped myself up in about 100 layers of clothing, and headed out with my big brother Joe. We walked around the neighborhood for a little while, until we came upon a group of kids in the Burger King parking lot. We recognized them as our friends Kenya, Theresa, and Jennifer. They were ever so intelligently sledding down a steep hill into a parking lot on nothing but a cardboard box. Yet, my brother and I made an even dumber move by joining them.
Joey was the first one to hop into the box, and take off. He seemed to fly down that hill. It looked like so much fun. I watched him a couple of times, every second getting more and more eager to try it for myself. Finally, there was an empty spot in the sled. I would have to sit in front, while Kenya, and Jennifer were behind me, but that didn't seem to bother me. So I just hopped in, and waited for gravity to take its toll. What I didn't notice was the two-ton jeep 4x4 at the bottom of the hill, and when I finally did, it was too late to stop.
I crashed into the front bumper of the jeep with my feet, but successfully managed to stop myself before my body was flung onto the truck. Yet, the weight of Jennifer an Kenya behind me pushed me forward further, and that's when the pain began. I immediately began to scream, and squirm my way out of from under the truck. I was unable to even make a sound; the pain was so immense. It felt as if someone was constantly beating my foot with a bat. My foot would not stop throbbing.
About 10 minutes later when I had finally calmed down, I turned to look at my brother, and I could see the fear in his eyes. Fear for not only my safety, but also for his own. He knew that I was his responsibility, and that when my dad saw the condition I was in, he was dead. So his first plan of action was to calm me down, and to see if I could walk. Bad move. As soon as I put the first hint of weight on my foot a powerful jolt of pain rushed up my leg. He knew right then that he had to get me to the doctor.
Him and Kenya helped me "hop" to my house. As soon as my dad opened the door, he saw I was hurt, and so he put me on the couch and very carefully removed my sneaker. He reminded me of a member of a bomb squad, trying to carefully clip the blue and red wires. As soon as he took off the sneaker we knew it was broken. My foot had doubled in size, and was all purple. He immediately picked me up, and drove me to the hospital. He was so concerned about me that he picked me up, and carried me to the weighting room (which was impressive, because I wasn't the skinniest kid in the world).
We waited a good fifteen minutes, until the doctor finally took a look at me. He did an MRI, and he took my x-rays, only to find that I had broken 4 metatarsal bones. He said that I would need a cast, and to stay off my foot for a good two weeks at least. Boy, was I upset. I had recovered from a broken bone, only to break another four!!! Talk about irony. It seemed the snow day hadn't turned out so well after all.
On the car ride home while my dad was stressing over the doctor's news, all I could think was, " Man, no school for another two weeks. I must be the luckiest kid in the world."